Ground Control
by allthingsdecent
Summary: Cuddy starts dating a man who poses a real threat to House.
1. Chapter 1

**Author' s note: So this was going to be a one-shot, but it was getting quite long and it's not done yet, so I figured I'd post it as a two-parter.**

**A few thoughts/acknowledgements:**

**First, this is once again from a prompt from dear old gnortn (what would I do without her?). She said, what if Cuddy began dating a man who House actually respected, someone formidable? Also, I got a nudge from Megabby on Twitter, who pointed out that I do a lot more jealous!Cuddy than jealous!House.**

**Lastly, I know the first scene is VERY reminiscent of Insensitive. I always loved that moment in her office and it just seemed so THEM. So I kinda. . .borrowed it. Heh.**

**Hope you enjoy. It takes place Season 4ish.**

_Disclaimer: I know that Cuddy would never date a dweeb like Lucas, so I'm clearly not affiliated with the show._

House had gotten approval for a somewhat risky stem cell procedure and was beating a hasty retreat out of Cuddy's office, when something caught his eye. He stopped, raised an eyebrow.

"Why are you wearing a new bra?" he asked, suspicious.

Cuddy looked down at her shirt.

"How could you possibly know that, House?" she said.

"Your boobs are noticeably perkier than they were yesterday and—while the other men in the hospital would probably kill me for telling you this—we can all see right down your top."

Cuddy turned red, quickly buttoned the top button of her shirt.

House watched her.

"You know, they're called undergarments for a reason, Cuddy," he said. "You're supposed to keep them _under _your garments."

"Very funny," she said. Then she picked up her phone and asked, in a musing kind of way: "Let me get your opinion on something, House: Do you think I should file my complaint against you with human resources _now_? Or wait until after you've left my office?"

"You love the attention, Cuddy," he said, smirking. "And you know it."

She sneered at him.

"And it's not a just new bra, I see," he continued. "It's a new _red_ bra. . .Pretty saucy color for the middle of the week, Cuddy."

"I wore it just for you. . . And, apparently, for all the rest of my male employees. Now stop obsessing over my . . garments, House, and go back to work."

But instead of leaving, he folded his arms, looked at her.

"You have a date tonight, don't you?" he said, the tiniest smile playing at his lips.

"None of your business," she said.

"Well, if you're hoping for a second date, I'd consider unbuttoning that top button again."

She looked back at him, her eyes flashing.

"It so happens that this isn't a first date. I've been seeing Ned for over a month."

"_Ned_?"

"Yes, his name's Ned Overstreet."

House furrowed his brow.

"Why does that name sound familiar?" he demanded.

Cuddy hesitated.

"I guess because he's kind of well known. . ." she said.

"Well known how? He's not one of those lawyers who advertises on the side of a bus, is he?"

Cuddy folded her arms.

"If you must know, he's an astronaut."

"Suuuuuure, he is. Is he also a handsome prince from a magical faraway land?"

Cuddy gave a "fine, don't believe me" shrug.

He squinted at her.

"You're serious," he said.

"As lupus."

"_Astronaut_ astronaut? As in Neil Armstrong? As in Ground Control to Major Ned?"

"As in, just came back from the International Space Station six months ago."

House suddenly felt a bit queasy.

"And you've been dating Bud Lightyear for a whole month?"

"Yes."

"But why didn't you tell me?" All the edge was now gone from his voice. He sounded a little pathetic.

"Gee, I don't know House. . .why _wouldn't_ I tell a man who relentlessly mocks and over-analyzes every aspect of my private life about my new boyfriend?" she said.

_Boyfriend._ House ever-so-imperceptibly flinched.

"And don't blame Wilson, either," she said. "He was sworn to secrecy."

"_Wilson_ knows?"

"Actually, he's meeting Ned tonight. We're going on a double date."

He continued to stare at her, in shock.

"Don't look so hurt, House," she teased. "I know how much you hate change, but I promise, you'll always be the man in my life who annoys me most!"

#####

As he did once a month, Wilson slipped out of the hospital at lunchtime, and made his way to The Hair and Now salon in downtown Princeton. He relished these moments of peace and quiet, away from the relentless pressure of his job (and the even more relentless pressure of his exhausting best friend)—and he had just the tiniest crush on Julie, his stylist. He loved the way her fingers massaged his scalp.

He lay back in the chair, his eyes closed, as the hot water ran over his head and Julie's expert fingers got to work.

"Mmmmm, that feels good," he said.

"Because you're a woman and you're worth it?" the most annoying voice in the world intoned.

Ugh.

Wilson poked open one eye.

"How did you even know I was here, House?"

"I simply asked myself, what is the most womanly place on earth? Then I trusted my instincts."

"You followed me," Wilson said.

"Of course!" House said, with a grin. He sat down in the washing station next to Wilson, put up his feet.

"You want a haircut, too?" Julie asked, winking at him.

"No," said House, patting on his pants pockets, as though searching for a wallet. "I left my vagina in my other pants."

"What are you doing here?" Wilson said. Julie was still massaging his scalp, but the magic was gone. His eyes were now wide open.

"Just wanted to see how dinner went last night," House said breezily. He was now fiddling with the hoses on the salon sink. He pressed a nozzle and a spurt of water squirted onto Wilson's lap.

"Sorry," he said.

"So you know about dinner, huh?" Wilson said, dabbing his lap with the towel that Julie had handed him.

"Yeah. . .Cuddy told me."

House was smelling the shampoo now. He made a face.

"She mentioned something about a double date?" he said. "I didn't know your Aunt Mabel was in town."

"I took Jennifer," Wilson said.

"Who dat?" He smelled another bottle.

"Jennifer? The kindergarten teacher?"

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"I spent an entire lunch last week talking about my feelings for her. I thanked you for being such a good listener."

"Huh," House said. "I must not have been listening."

Wilson frowned. His wash was done—Julie now led him to her cutting station. House gamely followed. He sat down next to them, picked up a book of hair styles, began idly flipping through the pages.

"So how was Buzz Aldrin, anyway?" he said, as though just making small talk.

"She told you about Ned too, huh?"

"I kind of guessed," House said.

"I can't lie, House, he's a great guy."

"And I'm sure he'd be the first to tell you that."

"No," Wilson said, as Julie began trimming the sides of his hair. "He's actually quite humble."

"C'mon," said House. "I bet you spent the whole dinner talking about his moon landing."

"It wasn't a moon landing. It was a space station. . .much farther into the galaxy. . .but no, we talked about oncology. He's very interested in what I do. And he wants to come visit the kids in the cancer wing. Bring them NASA t-shirts and toy rockets, that kind of thing."

"Oh," said House, adding hopefully: "Ugly?"

"I don't know. . .do you think Tom Selleck is ugly? Because they could be twins."

"Does he have a brother?" Julie asked, with a giggle.

House frowned.

"But he's dull as dishwater, right?"

"No, he's a fascinating guy. When he's not at NASA, he loves to race cars. _And _he's on the board of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I'm telling you, House. This guy's a prince. I have a little man crush on him myself."

"You would," House muttered.

He held up a picture in the hair book. It was a woman's haircut, with big, roller-curled waves and a hairsprayed poof in the back.

"I think this would be a good look for you," he said.

#####

A few days later, House wandered into Cuddy's office. There was an enormous bouquet of flowers on her desk that she was dreamily inhaling.

"From Captain Kirk?" he asked.

"Yeah. . ." she said, smiling.

"Well, he's presumably already slept with you, so he's not after that," House said. "So what did he do? Ogle another woman in your presence? Stand you up? Forget your birthday?"

"What are you talking about House?" Cuddy said. "He didn't _do _anything."

"C'mon Cuddy. Flowers were basically invented to get men out of the dog house," House said. "No guy gives a woman flowers just because."

Cuddy pulled a magnolia out of the bouquet, smelled it.

"Ned does."

House rolled his eyes.

"I haven't even met this guy and I hate him already," he grumbled under his breath.

"Funny you should say that," Cuddy said, snapping out of her reverie. "Ned's coming to visit the Pediatric Cancer Ward tomorrow and we're having lunch. I thought maybe it was time that you two alpha males met?"

The thought of seeing Cuddy with Captain America was somewhat repulsive.

"Is that really necessary, Cuddy?" he asked.

"It's important to me House," Cuddy said. "I know it sounds silly but I want you guys to like each other."

He sighed.

"Just point me in the right direction, boss," he said.

"1 o clock, my office. We can figure out where we're going from here."

"I'll bring the Tang."

######

House arrived early the next day, mostly for spying purposes—and instantly regretted his call.

Ned and Cuddy were standing next to Cuddy's desk, embracing. He was leaning down—he towered over her, and enveloped her, like a bear—whispering something in her ear and she was laughing. Although House was outside a closed door, he could almost hear it—that sultry, throaty, alluring Lisa Cuddy laugh.

_He _wanted to be the one who made her laugh like that.

Captain Ned kissed Cuddy's neck—and she looked up at him, like she was about to kiss him on the mouth.

That was House's cue. He burst in.

"I sure hope you're Ned," he said. "Otherwise, Dr. Cuddy's going to have some 'splainin to do."

They both looked up, laughed.

Ned, as advertised, was a strapping hunk of man, with thick wavy dark hair, broad shoulders, and an effortless way of filling a room. House had hoped for a cheesy, Magnum PI-style mustache, but no such luck. The guy was clean shaven. (In fact, he was, in many ways, the anti-House—he looked about as reputable as a person could look.)

Ned held out his hand.

"You must be House," he said.

House shook Ned's hand. Predictably, the guy had a crushing grip.

"Whatever you do, don't let any of our surgeons shake his hand, Cuddy," House said.

They decided to get lunch at a sandwich shop near the hospital—Cuddy wanted them all to drive together, but House made up some half-baked excuse about needing to run a quick errand after lunch: There was no chance he was sitting in the back seat of Ned's car, like a chump.

He followed them on his bike.

"Honda CBR?" Ned said, when House pulled into the parking lot. "Nice bike. I have one too. But I'm partial to my Ducati"—he was referencing the high-priced Italian bike manufacturer. "Basically, I like anything that's fast."

"No wonder you like Cuddy," House said.

She swatted him.

They went inside. Ned and Cuddy sat side by side and House sat across from them. He was feeling pretty emasculated in Ned's presence—rare for him. There weren't too many guys who were taller, more imposing, more confident than he was. He needed to regain the upper hand.

"Is it true you guys wear diapers in space?" he asked.

Ned chuckled.

"Why is everyone obsessed with the diaper thing?" he said. "Yes, it's true. But only for take-offs and landings."

"Pampers? Or Huggies?" House said, smiling at him.

"They're NASA issued, called MAGs," Ned said. "But we have an old joke at the agency: Will you shit yourself on your first space flight? Depends."

Cuddy laughed like this was the funniest joke she'd ever heard. House gulped at his water.

"Gross," he said.

Cuddy kicked him under the table.

"Soooo. . . when's your next mission, Captain?" House said. "They must keep you pretty busy there at NASA. Probably need to be away from home for long stretches at a time, huh?"

"I have nothing scheduled for the foreseeable future," Ned said, putting his arm around Cuddy, and grinning at her. "Which usually gets me pretty restless, but in this case, is a very positive development indeed."

"Huh," House said. "Lucky you."

"Ned, tell House about that time your crewmate lost his oxygen supply on the spacewalk," Cuddy said. House had a vague, uncomfortable feeling that she was showing Ned off.

Ned launched into a detailed story of his heroism—how, through quick thinking and with little regard for his own safety, he had rescued a fellow astronaut during a mission.

"Impressive stuff," House said. "Very manly."

"Of course, in space, no one can hear you scream," Ned chuckled.

And Cuddy laughed again and squeezed Ned's hand.

#####

After lunch, back in her office, Cuddy asked House what he thought of Ned.

"Seems like a great guy," House said. Sadly, it was the truth.

"Really?" she said. "You liked him?"

"If you weren't dating him, I would."

And Cuddy beamed at him.

A few minutes later, House passed by a trio of female nurses who were obviously still buzzing about the famous astronaut's visit.

"God, Dr. Cuddy is so lucky," one of them said. "Is he, like, the perfect man or what?"

"Did you see how sweet he was with the onco kids?"

"I know. . .I melted."

"And the way he looks at Dr. Cuddy. The man is smitten."

"And he's so handsome. He's like a movie star."

"But better. Because instead of playing an astronaut, he _is_ one!"

"It's not such a big deal," House said, not able to resist butting in. "He's just a glorified pilot."

"A glorified pilot who was on the cover of a Wheaties Box!" one of the nurses countered.

"He was . . on a Wheaties Box?" House said meekly.

"Yeah," she said. "Don't you ever go to the grocery store?"

House shrugged.

"I prefer Corn Flakes," he said, and limped away.

#####

Three days later, House was getting ready to leave for the day when Cuddy strut into his office.

"Whatever pathetic version of plans you might have for tonight, cancel them," she said.

House already had his knapsack slung over his shoulder.

He put it down on the desk.

"What's up?" he said.

"I just got a call from accounting. They're doing an internal audit and—surprise, surprise—they're focusing on your department. They want all your budget reports for the last eight years."

"Cuddy, that could take weeks—even months!" House protested.

"But they want them by the end of next week," Cuddy said. "Which means you and me are going to be stuck here, working late nights, until it gets done."

"Noooo!" House said. "You can't possibly keep me prisoner here. This is a hospital, not a Gulag."

"Look House. This is your fault. If you'd ever so much as bothered to fill out a single expense report, maybe we wouldn't be in this mess."

"How many days are we going to have to work late?" he asked.

She put her hands on her hips.

"As long as it takes."

House looked down at his desk and tried to conceal a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

A few hours later, House and Cuddy were sitting side by side on the floor of his office, with a rather daunting assortment of folders, financial reports, inventory lists, and receipts piled up in front of them.

House had the sleeves rolled all the way up on his Oxford shirt. Cuddy was sweating a bit and she had kicked her high-heeled pumps off to the side.

"A toddler with a piggy bank keeps better records than you do," Cuddy said. "Most of your purchases have no paper trail and the receipts you do have are completely arbitrary."

She pulled one of the crumpled receipts off the floor, as an example.

"$1,200 from Swingers. . .the _strip club_?"

"Male staff morale was getting low," House explained. "Also, Thirteen's."

"That's not deductible," Cuddy said.

"The next day, we solved the case. Coincidence? I think not."

Cuddy took the receipt, balled it up, and threw it in the trash.

"Legitimate expense?" she said. "I think not."

Cuddy grabbed another receipt.

"$359 from Mike's Music Emporium?"

"Remember that time I blew out my amplifier because of death metal boy? . . .I needed a new one."

"Uh, let me think about that," Cuddy said. "No." She crumpled and aimed again. Two more points.

"That amplifier saved a life!" House said.

"Then tragically, lost its own."  
She pulled out another receipt.

"$789 from Elka's Swedish Massage?"

House grabbed it, quickly.  
"That's not supposed to be in there," he said, and stuffed it in his pocket.

Cuddy sighed, surveyed the piles of paper, wiped some sweat off her brow.

"Is it just me, or is it incredibly hot in here?"

"It is kind of steamy," House agreed.

"Do they turn off the AC in this wing at night?" she asked.

"I have no idea," House said, looking at his watch. It was past 10 pm. "I'm not usually here this late."

Cuddy took off her jacket. She was wearing a sleeveless silk blouse. She had the most beautiful arms and shoulders—perfectly sculpted, but still womanly. Right now, they were coated in a fine mist of sweat. House was practically drooling.

He looked away.

"I'll talk to maintenance tomorrow," he said.

"Okay," she smiled.

She reached across him to grab a file—her bare arm brushing against his face.

"Sorry if I stink," she said, chuckling.

"You smell great," he said.

"So do you," she said, then immediately looked embarrassed.

They went back to work.

It was no cooler the next day.

"Did you talk to maintenance?" Cuddy said, taking off her sportsjacket. She was wearing an even less-there black camisole.

"I did," House said. "Maybe I wasn't firm enough."

"I've never known you not to be firm enough," Cuddy said.

"That's what she said," House said.

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"I stepped into that one, didn't I?" she said.

"You kinda did."

She chuckled.

They pored over the papers a bit. With each successive hour they worked together, their body language grew more intimate.

Cuddy's bare feet were now touching House's pants leg and when she leaned over to get a file, she would casually rest her arm on his chest. At one point, she grabbed the pen he had tucked behind his ear, wrote with it, and put it back.

"I'm starving," House said. "You wanna order a pizza?"

Cuddy looked at her cell. It was 9:30.

"I'm supposed to have dinner with Ned," she said. "Hold on."

She called him.

"Yeah, I'm still here," House heard her say. "Oh, you did? I totally understand. Okay. . .I'll call you tomorrow."

She hung up.

"He ate already," she said. "Pizza it is."

He smiled to himself. One phrase on the phone had stuck out: "_I'll call you tomorrow_." She and Ned weren't having sleepovers yet. At least not regular ones.

He limped up to his desk and pulled a takeout pizza menu from the desk drawer.

"Large pepperoni?" he said.

"House, you know I don't eat red meat," she said.

"I'd say pepperoni has more of an orangeish cast," he said.

"Cute."

"So what do you want on it?"

She wrinkled her nose.

"Anchovies?"

House made a gagging sound and a face like he was about to throw up.

"They're delicious," she said, defensively.

"You've got to be kidding. Who eats anchovies?"

"Somebody must. It's on the menu, right?"

"But they're so. . .salty. . and slimy. . .and fishy."

"I'm Jewish," Cuddy said. "We love things that are salty and slimy and fishy."

"I refuse to eat that," House said.

"Then get half with anchovies and half with pepperoni. This is hardly an international crisis."

House shrugged, ordered the pizza.

It arrived half an hour later.

"$16.75," the pimply delivery kid said.

House paid.

"May I _HAVE A RECEIPT_?" he said loudly, over-enunciating every word.

"You're learning," she chuckled.

They spread out their picnic on the floor.

House got a bottle of whiskey from his desk and offered Cuddy some in a shot glass.

"Thank, I'm good," she said, sipping from her bottle of water.

"Suit yourself," he said, shrugging.

He watched her eat her anchovy pizza.

"Eww, I can't believe you like that," he said.

"I dare you to try a piece," she said.

"No way!"

"So Ned makes emergency intergalactic rescues and you can't taste an anchovy?"

"Low blow, Cuddy," he said, amused.

She smiled, devilishly, and waved the pizza in his face.

"Take a bite, House," she said, in a God-like voice. "Take a bite."

She moved the pizza to his lips.

"Never, you anchovy pusher!" he said, and he playfully wrestled her to the floor.

Now he was pinning her shoulders to the ground and she was looking up at him—and they were both laughing, in a giddy sort of way.

"You're my prisoner now," he said. "I could make you eat pepperoni. . .I could make you do. . .anything."

She giggled.

"But you won't!"

He leaned toward her. His face was now mere inches from hers.

"Oh, won't I?" he whispered.

"Not if I make you first!" she yelled—and did a pretty nifty maneuver to roll out from under him and pin him herself.

He grinned.

"Impressive Cuddy," he said. Her hair fell in his face. He was strong enough to lift her off him, but of course, he didn't want to. In fact, his primary objective right now was suppressing his boner. He felt like he was 17-years-old.

"Where'd you learn that move?"

"Krav Maga class," she said.

"You're strong," he said.

"And don't ever forget it," she said.

"I never do," he said.

There was something tender and serious in his voice. Cuddy looked into his eyes. It was clear they were about to kiss.

Instead, she hastily rolled off him.

"We should, uh, get back to our paperwork," she said, unsteadily.

"Yeah," House said, and he lay flat on the ground, looking up at the ceiling, trying not to betray his disappointment.

By day three, they had actually made a significant dent in the work. But the office was no cooler and Cuddy didn't even bother to wait until she got overheated before she stripped down to her camisole, then did a seductive little move where she wrapped up her hair in a knot with a pencil in one deft stroke, and got to work.

House could see down her camisole. She was wearing the bra—the red bra—from her office.

He'd already beaten off several times to the image of that red bra. To have Cuddy sitting so close, sweating, partially undressed in it—well, it was almost too much for him to handle.

He exhaled. Tried to think of a particularly nasty case of crotch rot that had come through the clinic earlier.

"Ahhhh," Cuddy said, rubbing her neck. "We've been sitting here so long, my muscles are killing me."

She slowly rotated her head, then stretched.

This woman was trying to kill him.

"May I?" he said. He tentatively placed his hands on her shoulders. "I've been told I have great hands."

"I remember," she said.

And they both blushed.

He began to massage her shoulders and she was making little contented moaning noises that were driving him even more crazy.

"You do have great hands," she breathed.

He massaged her bare neck, then moved his hands lower down her back. On impulse, he reached under her shirt, expecting her to protest, but she said nothing.

His hands moved slowly back up her bare back, then to her shoulders. They migrated forward until he was lightly grazing her clavicle with his fingertips. They were both breathing rather heavily now.

And then House took a chance—one of the biggest chances of his life—and began to massage her breasts.

He was so afraid he had misread the signs—the heat, the closeness, the intimacy— but her moaning grew louder. She arched her back toward him.

"Cuddy," he said softly.

She turned—and her face was slack with desire.

He began to kiss her—and she kissed back, receiving his tongue greedily.

He removed the pencil that was holding up her hair and her beautiful curls swung loose, down to her shoulders.

"I want you so much," he said, kissing her throat and between her breasts.

"Me too," she said. "God help me, me too."

In moments, Cuddy had unbuttoned his pants and shirt and House had hiked up her skirt and removed her camisole. And she was topless, except for that red bra, which was lacy enough that he could see her beautiful breasts.

He wanted to take off her bra and skirt and panties, see her in all her glory, but they were both mindful of the hospital beneath them—which was buzzing with staff and patients and all the normal routines of the late-night shift.

Cuddy unbuttoned House's jeans and pulled out his cock—and he thought he might come just from the sensation of her hand on his dick—and she guided him inside her.

He groaned.

They made love as quietly as possible, but when they both came, the long-awaited release of pressure was simply too much—Cuddy let out a half-yelp, half-scream, and House grunted loudly. Then Cuddy collapsed heavily onto his chest.

They were both out of breath, coated in sweat. She stuck to him.

"Ohmygod," House said.

"Ohmygod," Cuddy said.

She lay on top of him, her chest pressed against his, radiating heat and smelling decadently of sex.

"That was. . ." he said.

He looked up at her—and noticed just the tiniest change in her face.

"A mistake," she said quickly.

It was a like a switch had flipped.

She climbed off him.

"No," he said, grabbing her hand. "It wasn't."

"House, I have a boyfriend," she said.

"I know," he said. "I don't care."

She closed her eyes.

"Don't, House. Don't do this."

"Do what?"  
"Don't confuse me."

"That's not my intention."

"I have to go," she said, letting go of his hand. She got dressed, began gathering up all the files, in a sort of officious way. "I think I can finish up the rest on my own. . .Thank you. You've been a lot of . . . help."

She was talking now as though all they had been doing for the last three nights was paperwork.

She left his office.

"Shit," House said.

######

A few days later, Cuddy delivered her final financial report to Don Mackie, the head of accounting.

"It wouldn't necessarily pass muster with the US Treasury," she said. "But for an internal audit, I think it's close enough."

"Did you ever find out who left that anonymous tip?" Mackie asked.

Cuddy squinted at him.

"What anonymous tip?"

"The tip that House's department hadn't submitted an accurate budget report in 8 years. The whole reason for this little audit song and dance."

Cuddy folded her arms.

"No, I never did find out. But I have a strong hunch."

Right after leaving accounting, she wandered over to the maintenance department.

"Hey Lou," she said. "Has Dr. House been by lately?"'

"Yup," Lou said. He was rummaging through a pile of screwdrivers, looking for the right tip.

Cuddy sighed. Well at least he hadn't lied about _that._

"So how come you couldn't fix the air in House's wing?"

He stopped.

"You're kidding, right?" he said. "House asked me to turn the air _off_ in that section."

She left his office and marched right to the Diagnostics Department, where House was leading a DDx.

"Everybody out!" she demanded.

"We're in the middle of a . . ." House started.

"Now!" she said.

Taub gave a little whimper and he and the team left the office.

House optimistically started to follow.

She glared at him.

"Sit, House."

He sat.

"Something on your mind, Cuddy?" he asked, ironically.

"Of all the sneaky, back-handed, low-down, unscrupulous things you've ever done, this has to be at the top of the list," she said.

"You're going to have to be more specific," House said.

"You sent an anonymous tip to accounting! You had the air turned off in your office!"

"Guilty as charged."

"You. . .you . . ."

"I what?" he said, looking up at her.

"You tricked me!"

"Tricked you how?"

"You tricked me into"—she looked around the room, lowered her voice—"sleeping with you."

"I _tricked_ you in to sleeping with me? Exactly how does that work, Cuddy? Because you seemed a pretty fucking willing participant—eager, you might even say."

She folded her arms.

"The late nights, the heat. . .you seduced me."

"I could only seduce you if you wanted to be seduced, Cuddy."

He stood up.

"You have this way of . . . twisting things," she said.

He took a step toward her.

"I know," he said.

"I have a boyfriend," she said.

"I know. . .He's a great guy. I hate him." Then he whispered in her ear: "I can't stop thinking about you."

She inhaled.

"Me either," she admitted.

He took his finger, traced the base of her neck.

"So what are we going to do about that, Cuddy?" he said, leaning in, his face right next to hers.

"I honestly don't know," she said, poutily. "And by the way, fuck you, House."

"Fuck you right back, Cuddy," he said. And he smiled.

#####

That night, she broke up with Captain Ned Overstreet.

"Is it because of Dr. House?" he asked.

Cuddy looked down at her feet.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"I saw the way you two looked at each other. Your body language. It was pretty obvious."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Me too," he said.

"You're _sorry?_"

"I'm sorry for me and I'm sorry for you. It must suck to be in love with that guy."

Cuddy nodded sadly.

"It does," she said.

THE END

.


End file.
